Matches
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Molly has a minor meltdown following Sherlock's fall


**A/N: Not entirely sure where this one came from, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone and it's vaguely related to my theory that Sherlock treats Molly differently to everyone else and is just...different with her (and I'm more than happy to discuss this if you're interested). Hope you like it :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Matches**_

She'd seen him fall.

She knew it was a lie, one that she'd helped to create, but somehow she couldn't erase the memory of his fall, of his face covered in blood.

She shuddered and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, reminding herself that she was being ridiculous. Sherlock was absolutely fine and asleep in her bedroom, she needed to get a hold of herself before he woke up and found her in this state.

She had to be strong, he needed her and she couldn't let him down.

The sound of the newspaper being delivered provided a welcome distraction and she left the couch to retrieve it.

The sight of the headline was enough to tip her over the edge.

_Suicide of Fake Genius._

"No, no, _no_!"

Molly didn't even realise that she had spoken out loud, much less that she had ended up yelling, she was too intent on tearing the newspaper to pieces.

"You're _wrong_, you're _all_ wrong," she muttered, frantically tearing any scrap of paper that came into her reach. "You don't know him at all, _this_ is the lie!" she added hysterically.

She didn't realise she was crying until she felt strong hands take hold of her shoulders and pull her back from the confetti she was creating with the newspaper. Without thinking she turned and buried her face in Sherlock's chest, balling the front of his shirt in her fists as she did so.

Gradually her sobbing subsided and she became aware of someone patting her back uncertainly; her eyes snapped open as she realised who that someone was.

"Sorry," she apologised, breaking from his hold, "I…um…coffee?" she asked, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand and refusing to look him in the eye.

"Molly-" he began, but she cut him off.

"Black, two sugars, right?" she clarified, already halfway to the kitchen.

He followed her, but stayed mercifully silent as he watched her fill the kettle and pull out a couple of mugs. Her hands shook as she went to pick up the kettle and she looked up in surprise as Sherlock beat her to it.

"Go," he ordered motioning her out of the kitchen with a nod of his head, "sit. I'll make it."

Molly did as she was bid, hugging her knees to her chest as she resumed her place on the couch.

Sherlock joined her a few moments later and set her mug carefully in front of her, before taking the only other seat in the room. He took a sip of his drink, still watching her intently.

She sighed, "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to keep apologising, Molly."

"It's silly," she continued as though he hadn't spoken, avoiding his gaze by talking to her knees. "I just…I saw you fall," she whispered, "and I know it wasn't real but it certainly _felt_ real and then the papers said such _horrible_ things…" she broke off as a lump formed in her throat. "Like I said, it's silly," she added dismissively, leaning over the pick up her coffee.

"You didn't let me down, Molly," he said quietly.

Her eyes snapped to his face, "What?"

"You didn't let me down," he repeated, "that's what you're worried about," he told her and she averted her eyes, "but you didn't," he said firmly.

"I'm such a mess-" she protested meekly, but he cut her off.

"You're not immune to sentiment, Molly, it's only natural that you would have some kind of reaction."

"I'm sorry you had to see it," she said finally.

"What did I say about apologising?" he snapped, she started a little and he immediately softened his tone. "I don't like it when people hide things from me," he told her, "you've never hidden anything from me and I don't want you to start now."

"I'm-" she broke off at his look, "it won't happen again," she amended.

He gave a brief, satisfied nod in response.

Molly sipped her drink, surprised that he knew how she took her coffee, before reminding herself that he was _Sherlock Holmes_ and of course he would know how she took her coffee.

"What happens now?" she asked after a long moment.

"I will dismantle Moriarty's web, one piece at a time," he took a sip of his drink, staring into the middle distance, "starting with those with guns pointing at John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade."

Molly shivered a little, "_You_ should probably clean up the newspaper," he added, noticing her reaction and attempting to lighten the mood.

Molly glanced at the pile of torn up newspaper, "I think we should burn it," she said decisively.

Sherlock smirked, "I'll go get the matches."

...

**A/N: I know it just...stops, but I couldn't find a way to continue it.**


End file.
